Starting school again after what had happened was hard, people blamed me, people blamed the driver, and people blamed fate. When you're grieving, people seem to want to blame someone, and not themselves.
I took the majority of the blame, I felt guilty. If it weren't for me, we wouldn't have been at the party and she wouldn't have been in the car. As I got older, I began to realise that I wasn't fully to blame, I wasn't the drunk driver, and I didn't pretend to be sober. That made her loss a little easier, a little, not a lot.
Once you find your person, who understands you completely, and you them, it's hard to let go. I did eventually, but it took a very long time. I tried to go to therapy, and I tried to talk to people. I wasn't a very expressive person, I tended to keep things locked away. Therapy didn't work. I don't think I worked again; my body was on auto pilot constantly.
The first day of school was difficult, with the apologetic glances or the evil eyes. Teachers often took pity on me, and students always avoided the girl with the broken smile. My classes were either uneventful or too busy, never nicely in between. I hated school, which was odd, as before I always loved the environment. I had changed hugely, and I wasn't sure if it was for the better or not...
I rarely went to school after the awful first day, I either spent my days hiding out at home or wandering the small, pitiful town. I used to get comments from the older people who resided in town, it didn't hurt my feelings much, as I didn't really feel at all at that part of my life.
"You're an outcast"
"Who do you think you are?"
"You can't feel that way."
I was always odd, in many senses of the word, but I never truly minded. I just wanted to love, and I got to, but it was always in private. That also didn't bother me, because I got my time to be adored, and so did others. Just the conditions were different, and the prejudice real.
Being an outcast in a town full of boring souls was too distressing for me to cope with.
I just didn't know how to keep going without her.
I showed up at school once before the Christmas break, only 5 months after the accident. It was awful. How can people be so happy around the loneliest time of year? I had a few good friends, who always stuck by me, but they weren't her. They didn't have the same effect as she did. It's sad, looking back, but I was sad, and I can't change that.
"Are you okay?"
"Can I get you anything?"
"Aren't you going to eat?"
I was asked those questions on a regular basis, but how does one answer them? Usually, a nod in their vague direction sufficed, and then the talk about boys started up again. Don't get me wrong, I knew a good-looking guy when I saw one, and I didn't mind to talk the talk, but in that particular moment I could think of nothing worse to gossip about.
From the minute I walked into a room, or joined up with my friends after a long, boring lesson, chatter would usually die down, and stares were served my way. I didn't mind, I would've stared at me too.
There was one person though, who understood my anger, my pain. That was Jax, he was in the car and he also lost someone that day. We weren't very close, I for one being an outcast while he fit right in with the crowd. After the accident, he never got the stares, the blame, or the pity. He got the normalcy, and for that I pitied him. I thought that he never got to truly mourn her death, as he, she and I were quite close as kids, and I knew he didn't forget about us. Jax's life seemed complex, with a huge future looming over him, I could relate to him, in private of course. Nobody wanted to be seen with the murderer.
"Hey" His face, so familiar yet so distant. He always looked friendly. But nobody knew what hid behind the façade.
"Hi" He perched next to me, his whole-body tense. His eyes sad.
"How are you doing?" He asked me, in return I nodded.
"How are you?" I asked him. But does anyone answer that question honestly?
"I don't know how to be" He put it simply, but I could see, who couldn't, that behind his eyes there was a lot of anger, and pain, and grief.
"I get that...I really do" After that there was silence, he sat still beside me, just observing the world. In that moment, nothing else really mattered but his presence next to mine. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel completely alone, and it was nice, but short lived.
"I don't blame you; you know? You didn't kill her" He whispered to me, almost like the words burnt his tongue.
"Thanks" I didn't know what to say.
"I really don't. People are wrong to blame you. I'm sorry for what happened" I frowned.
"Why are you sorry?"
"Isn't that what people say?" I laughed lightly.
"Yes. Yes, they do."
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